


passable excuse

by onceuponamoon



Series: abo jt/ebs [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parenthood, one of the babies has a nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: John can scent the distress the second they step out of the garage and into the mudroom, good mood immediately morphed into a distinct brand of parental panic.





	passable excuse

**Author's Note:**

> lol this verse is consuming my life

**February 2025**

John can scent the distress the second they step out of the garage and into the mudroom, good mood immediately morphed into a distinct brand of parental panic.

It’s nearing midnight; there’s no reason for any of their kids to be awake, let alone _distressed_ , but it smells like Addie’s close to panic and -- Barzy’s on the couch, leaning forward and petting at Addie’s hair as she stares at him with fat tears spilling onto her cheeks.

“Oh, thank god,” Barzy says at the same time Addie says, “ _Papai_ ,” and holds her arms out.

John scoops her up from the coffee table, lets her wrap her arms around his neck and nuzzle beneath his chin, scenting like her life depends on it. He tries to emit nothing but calmness, rumbling out a purr and taking her into the kitchen while Jordan talks, low and even, to Barzy, clearly trying to keep from either growling or yelling. 

“What happened, _docinho_?” John asks, ignoring the way his stomach swoops and tightens as he sets her onto the island counter. He swipes her hair out of her face, wipes the tears from her chubby little cheeks. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Addie shakes her head, using the back of her hand to wipe her nose. “Unc -- Uncle Barzy, he, he--” She sniffs, breathing unsteadily as she tries to explain what happened. “He watched a scary clown and, and -- it scared me, _Papai_ , I don’t like it!” She’s wailing by the end of it, leaning forward to clutch at John’s shoulders.

John shushes her, petting at her hair. “You’re okay, Addie-girl,” he says. It takes a while to get her calmed down enough to answer, “What were you doing up?”

“I waked up and I needed another sip of water,” she explains, still a little tearfully.

“You woke up and needed more water?”

She nods.

“Did you go to ask Uncle Barzy to help you?”

Again, she nods.

“I’m proud of you for asking for help,” John says, wiping another tear from beneath Addie’s eye. He gives her a hug, letting her scent the pride. “Do you think if it would help if I left a cup of water in your bathroom for you? That way if you get thirsty, you don’t have to go downstairs.”

Addie nods again, clearly fading a bit. She rubs at her eyes. “I like that.”

“Okay, sweetie.” He kisses her forehead. “We’ll do that then.”

Things sound a little calmer in the living room, and Jordan’s scent has mellowed a bit, at least enough for John to deem it safe to peek his head in, say, “I’m gonna put her back to bed.”

Barzy’s voice is watery when he says, “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

Sighing, John presses his lips to Addie’s hair again, says, “I know, Mat. It’s okay, buddy. She’ll be okay.” John honestly has no idea what his scent is doing, but he hopes Barzy can at least tell that he’s being sincere. 

By the time John’s purred Addie to sleep, nestled back behind Nico and Matty, John’s exhausted, wondering why he and Jordan even bother doing date nights in the first place; they’re typically just as happy staying home with their kids. But…

If John’s newfound suspicions are correct, and he didn’t just overdo it on the dessert tonight, he might need to take advantage of them while he can. 

John pets at Addie’s hair one last time, tucking the blanket back up over her shoulder. He goes back downstairs, finds Jordan at the sink, chugging a glass of water. Huffing a laugh, John thinks, _There’s who she gets it from_. 

Jordan turns, quirking a thick brow at John before he dumps the rest of the water and sets the empty glass in the sink. “What’s so funny, babe?”

“All she wanted was a glass of water,” John says, coming close to pin Jordan against the sink, nuzzling at his neck. “She’s definitely her alpha’s daughter.”

Half-grinning, Jordan wraps his arms around John’s middle and says, “Yeah, well.” He sways them a bit, smelling mostly content, if a little restless. “I hope I wasn’t too hard on Barzy.”

“I hope you were just hard enough,” John says, leaning back to fix Jordan with a look. “Why the hell was he watching _It_ anyway?”

Jordan shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know, babe,” he says, “I don’t pretend to know what goes through that kid’s mind.”

John snorts. “He’s almost thirty.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We had our shit completely together by thirty.”

“...Okay, fair,” John concedes. “Plus, it’s not like he knew that Addie was going to wake up. It’s not his fault. I guess.”

Jordan snorts. “Careful, babe, you might actually sound like you mean it.”

John pushes at Jordan’s arm, and leads the way into the master suite. They brush their teeth side-by-side and John washes his face while Jordan goes to turn the bed down, fluffing up the pillows and rearranging the blankets back to John’s liking. Honestly, John doesn’t understand the point of making the bed, because he prefers a nest, but Jordan’s weird about it, especially when people are going to be in the house. One time, John had asked him about it and all he’d said was, “It’s...private, ya know?” and, well. John didn’t disagree.

 

He likes that this is something that only they get to share.

“Ten bucks says you’re gonna wake up with Addie’s butt on your head,” John says as he dries off his hands. He flicks off the light in the bathroom, smiling when Jordan laughs.

“You know what, I don’t think I’m gonna take that bet,” Jordan says, crawling into the open space between the two body pillows. He shifts to one side, letting John spoon up behind him. “That movie’s fucking terrifying.”

John pulls the covers over them. “Oh, _right_. You don’t like clowns either.”

“Okay, but ‘It’ is not just a clown -- it’s a demon thing that terrorizes these kids using their worst fears and --”

“Yours just happens to be clowns.”

“I mean,” Jordan says, volume dropping, “It used to be.”

John hums, exhausted and a little nauseated. “What is it now?”

“Something happening to you or the kids,” Jordan answers, tilting his hips back into the cradle of John’s. He reaches back for John’s arm, pulls it tight against his chest until John’s forced to lean half-on him. “That’s -- nothing’d be worse than that.”

“Hmm, yeah,” John says, “That’s maybe a little worse than clowns.”

Jordan sounds half-asleep when he says, “I love you,” and he’s definitely snoring about two minutes after John says it back. He presses a kiss to the back of Jordan’s neck, tucking his face between it and the pillow before he, too, tries to sleep.

He’s startled awake a few hours later when a tiny hand touches his face.

“ _Papai_ ,” a tiny little voice says, “ _Papai_ , please, I’m scared.”

“Hey, Addie-girl,” he says, voice rough with sleep but as soft as he can make it. “You okay?”

In the pale moonlight, he can only just barely make out her outline. She shakes her head. “Too scared,” she says. “Can I sleep with you and Daddy?”

Jordan’s still snoring, and it’s not like they were planning on doing anything aside from sleeping, so John says, “Sure, _docinho_.” He helps lift her onto the bed and gets her settled in front of him, snug between him and Jordan.

Whispering, she asks, “ _Papai_ , can you purr?”

“Sure, baby,” he says, kissing her forehead. 

It’s the easiest thing in the world to let it roll through him, rumbling out a purr that immediately has her relaxing into the nest. John’s stomach feels a little less sour once he’s been purring for a bit; he hadn’t even noticed he was still feeling off. He doesn’t know how long he’s rumbling out his purrs, but it’s not too long before Addie shifts and, sure enough, nuzzles into his neck, putting her butt right on the back of Jordan’s head.

Chuckling quietly, John lets the affection wash through him, and does his best to fall back asleep.

 

Regardless of the late night, John wakes bright and early, ready to get his day started and the kids ready for daycare at the rink. 

Addie’s still snoozing, drooling a little bit onto John’s chest with one leg kicked out over Jordan’s chest. John carefully extracts her and carries her into the kitchen saying, “Time to wake up, Addie-girl, me and Daddy have practice and you and your brothers are gonna get to play with Jack-Jack.” 

She makes a sleepy noise and clutches at his sleep-shirt.

John sets her in her booster seat, laughing and pressing a kiss to the back of her head when she slumps forward to rest on her folded arms. She’s going to be exhausted today, but hopefully there won’t be anymore scary clown dreams, so she can make it up with a nap and a good night’s rest. 

Jordan’s up a few minutes later, Nico in his arms and Matty sleepily trailing after him with his eyes closed, just clutching at Jordan’s sleep shorts in complete and total trust.

They all look bleary as John starts on the oatmeal -- trying to keep himself from wrinkling his nose at the smell. It’s literally just butter and milk and oats; he hasn’t even added the cinnamon or apples yet. With the way his stomach turns, John figures he should probably set himself aside a portion without them.

While he’s finishing up the breakfast, Jordan’s pouring milk into their sippy cups and delivering it with scenting hugs, rubbing his stubbly throat on their smooth cheeks. 

Once breakfast is settled, Jordan gets Matty and Addie ready while John takes Nico, who’s the worst about dragging his feet unless John’s purring for him, and then they put on whatever educational cartoon is playing this early in the morning for the kids as they get ready. John’s feeling a bit sluggish himself, so he doesn’t chastise Nico when he acts the same, taking his sweet time stepping down into the garage from the mudroom and up into the car. John gets them all buckled up and strapped in while Jordan starts the car.

It’s not seamless, never is anymore, but it’s pretty smooth as far as most mornings go.

When they make it to the practice rink, Jordan volunteers to take them to the offices for daycare while John heads back to the locker room, still feeling a little bit off. Barzy’s already there, along with a couple of the other guys, warmed up from one of the bikes and tugging his practice jersey over his head, eyes immediately widening as soon as he sees John.

“Hey,” John says, casually as possible.

“Johnny, I’m _so_ sorry,” Barzy says, scent soured with guilt. (John wrinkles his nose.) “I swear to god, I didn’t mean to traumatize your kid.”

“Barzy,” John says, breathing evenly through his mouth. He sets a hand on the kid’s shoulder just like he’d do to Matty and says, “I promise you, I’m not upset. I know you didn’t mean to.” He doesn’t kiss his forehead, or anything quite so parental, but he lets the quietest of purrs escape into the space between them so that Barzy knows he means it. 

The look Barzy fixes him with is one of pure amazement, gratitude, relief. 

“But if she wakes up from a nightmare again, I’m calling you,” he says, squeezing Barzy’s shoulder with a teasing grin, “Now get your skates on, bud, it’s practice-time.”

John gets his gear on, gets warmed up, and starts regretting the oatmeal the second his skates cut into the ice. His stomach’s seriously roiling by the time everyone else has piled out and started taking shots on Greisser, barely able to focus on Coach Weight explaining a new drill he’d like to try out and feels a little shaky, a little weak, and definitely more than a little sick when he’s in line for a turn. 

He steps out, skates toward Coach once the guys get into the swing of it and says, “Think I need to see the trainer,” barely able to wait for Coach’s wide-eyed nod before he skates back out, shaking his head at Jordan’s inquisitive look, and waddles his way into the locker room.

He doesn’t throw up, just barely, but it’s a lot easier to breathe once he strips his gear and puts his slides on, walking slowly to the trainer’s office.

Though he gets checked over physically, gets swabbed, pees in a cup, goes through the whole shebang, John knows he probably needs to make a call to his OBGYN when he answers, “And when was your last intense heat?” with, “Umm, December? Maybe January, I think.” Because --

The heat he’d just gotten over was actually really mild. 

Which...definitely means that he’ll more than likely have some news for Jordan. The team. _Management, ugh_. 

He’s left to his own devices after he’s run the gamut, and luckily he’s able to just lie back on the exam table, arm over his eyes, in the dark. Which, on one hand, it helps with the nausea, but on the other, he’s left to his thoughts -- the same ones that he’d had when he’d gotten pregnant with the triplets.

Because...it’s different now. Hockey’s not his priority anymore, hasn’t really been ever since he’d first held Matty, Addie, and Nico in his arms. And now -- he’ll have two more, if not three or four, and depending on how this pregnancy goes, how Jordan reacts, John might not be able to be as present with the team. He -- as much as it pains him to think about it, he knows he should probably step down, offer up the C to someone who can actually fulfill the responsibilities and lead the team.

John accomplished his dream; he led his team to the Cup last season. Now’s just as good a time as any to just...let go. 

He’s pretty much come to a decision by the time practice is over and noise flares up down the hall. He can scent Jordan -- stinking through his pads and shuffling in socked feet before he knocks.

John thinks he might throw up if he opens his mouth, so he just tries to make his scent as welcoming as possible.

Jordan cracks the door open, light surrounding him. “Babe,” he says, and -- 

“Shower first,” John says quickly, “We’ll talk when you come back.”

Jordan does, no questions asked, even though his scent does go a little sharp with worry and John can pick up the growl he rumbles out when he thinks he’s out of earshot. It takes all of five minutes and then Jordan’s back, smelling less rank and more like himself.

Sitting upright, John swallows hard. “I think we need to call Dr. Karadjuzovic,” he says before he can chicken out. “And I’m giving up the C if I really am pregnant.”

“ _Babe_ ,” Jordan says again, rushing in and sinking almost to his knees, wrapping his arms around John’s middle, pressing his face to John’s stomach. 

He’s scenting, clearly trying to sniff out pregnancy hormones that -- more than likely aren’t detectable if he’s only about a month along, but -- Jordan clearly doesn’t care. He’s rubbing his face all over John’s belly, making these high, desperate noises in the back of his throat. If it were anyone else, if they were any _where_ else, John might poke a little bit of fun, teasing Jordan for the way he’s so soft for babies, but -- Jordan would probably argue that he’s softer for a pregnant John.

“You can’t smell ‘em yet,” John points out, grinning, running his fingers through Jordan’s hair anyway. “But probably in a few weeks, if I am.” He keeps saying ‘if’ but it’s pretty much a sure thing.

It’d explain the random bouts of nausea, the sensitivity to smells, the lethargy, the irritability he’s been dealing with this week.

“ _Johnny_ ,” Jordan says, looking up, eyes full of tears. He’s smiling, crying. “Johnny, is it -- oh my _god_.” He laughs, rubs his teary cheeks on John’s belly as his scent bursts bright and sweet at the back of John’s throat. He leans up, hands on John’s cheeks and kisses him, just this soft, incredibly fond thing. “I love you _so much_ , you know? That you let me have this, that you’d -- god, you’re incredible, omega.”

They -- it’s been since the Cup that they’d decided to ditch birth control again, fucking with astounding regularity up through the end of the summer, into preseason, just _hoping_. But.

Of course these babies would be stubborn, biding their time until they’re focused on raising their standing and clinching a spot in the playoffs. _Of course_.

John pries Jordan off of him, backing him up just enough so that he can stand, wrap his arms around Jordan’s shoulders and let Jordan turn his face into the crook of John’s neck, gnawing at their marriage bond-bite until John’s knees go a little weak, the nausea fading just enough for him to enjoy it.

Jordan pulls back, says, “I love you _so fucking much_ , Johnny,” again and laughs, embarrassed, when John wipes the tears from his cheeks.

“I love you, too, alpha.” John’s smile is soft, fragile. “But you owe me so many ginger chews.”

Laughing, Jordan nods, sniffs, and says, “Anything. Whatever you want.”

First they’ll have their appointment, then John’ll talk with Coach Weight and management. There’ll probably have to be a press conference, too, once John’s showing too much for ‘upper body injury’ to remain a passable excuse for being on IR. John’s dreading that bit, but -- he thinks about telling his friends and family, about Jordan rubbing cream on his belly, about gummy smiles and the triplets making goofy faces into the crib, and --

It’ll be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> [sin bin](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com)


End file.
